


The Meet Cute Job

by n_a_feathers



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Coldflashweek2016, M/M, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 11:02:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8798335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n_a_feathers/pseuds/n_a_feathers
Summary: “Your mark is 24 year old Barry Allen,” says Vincent Santini, head of the eponymous crime family, “a forensic scientist with the CCPD and a loner. His lab is your best chance at nabbing the evidence. You’ll also have the fact that he’s relatively new to your advantage; he wasn’t around the last time you did a job in Central.”
“So, what?” Len asks in a drawl, reclining back obnoxiously on the chair they’d shoved him into. “You want me to seduce him?”
Written for Coldflash week Day Five, Undercover.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is two days late in my time zone but I got it done. Small victories.

“Your mark is 24 year old Barry Allen,” says Vincent Santini, head of the eponymous crime family, “a forensic scientist with the CCPD and a loner. His lab is your best chance at nabbing the evidence. You’ll also have the fact that he’s relatively new to your advantage; he wasn’t around the last time you did a job in Central.”

 

“So, what?” Len asks in a drawl, reclining back obnoxiously on the chair they’d shoved him into. “You want me to _seduce_ him?”

 

Santini’s nose wrinkles up in disgust. “Making friends should be enough. We have accounts of civilian family members visiting him in his lab. A friend – if he had any – might be afforded the same privileges.”

 

“And the goal?”

 

“A certain firearm which, if investigated closely enough, could land my idiot son in gaol.”

 

“How long do I have?”

 

“A couple of days at most. Our sources say the evidence is still in lock up. You can get it done before then, can’t you, Snart?”

 

“Do I have a choice?”

 

Santini laughs. He knows as well as Len does that if he botches this job, the Santinis will come after him with all they have. He’ll be a dead man walking.

 

If that was all that hung over him, Len probably still would have brushed them off, skipped town and not come back until things had blown over or he had leverage and a plan.

 

But they also have Lisa.

 

So Len will be their puppet and let them pull his strings for now.

 

***

 

Len waits in a coffee shop called Jitters just down the block from the CCPD.

 

The Santinis hadn’t left him completely clueless. They’d given him schedules for this Barry Allen’s usual routine. A coffee stop at Jitters seemed to be the mainstay of his mornings despite a penchant for running late. Len wishes he’d been able to do his own reconnaissance but there’s no time.

 

Santini had said Allen hadn’t been in the force long enough to have worked on any of the jobs he’d pulled, but Len isn’t taking any chances. He wears fake-lensed glasses and dresses in business casual, blending in easily with all the yuppies on their morning commute into the CBD. If he’d had more warning, he would have grown his hair out. He knows it makes him look like an entirely different person.

 

Allen’s foster sister is working behind the counter. The briefing he’d received told him she’s still a student at the local university, studying journalism. His foster father is a police detective at the CCPD. His real father is in Iron Heights, his mother dead.

 

His sister is inconsequential to the job but Len is polite and tips well as he orders his coffee. Best to cover all bases. Just in case.

 

He grabs a newspaper and takes up a chair near the entrance with a good view of the entire shop. He’s just making a start on the international news section when Barry Allen rushes through the front doors. He looks just like he had in the photo they’d given him but there’s an energy to him that can’t be captured in still images. A touch ungraceful and unsure, yes, but there’s a certain something to the kid that’s interesting to watch.

 

Len takes a sip of his drink as he covertly watches Allen approach the counter, his sister giving him a look of disappointment and chastising him for running late for work. She has a drink ready for him though and as soon as he’s apologised and promised to do better tomorrow, she hands it over and he’s making his way back towards Jitters’ exit.

 

Len has to time this perfectly if he wants it to be believable. He folds up his paper, places it on the table and stands up to intercept his mark. He pretends to be too focused on his phone to watch where he’s going, but he’s tracking the movement of Allen’s feet the entire time.

 

When they collided, Len works it so only his own now tepid drink spills, and only on himself.

 

Allen’s apologies come thick and fast. “I am _so_ sorry. Are you okay? Did you get burnt? I can’t believe I did that. I’m really sorry.”

 

“No, it’s my fault,” insists Len, waving off Allen’s attempts to help him and making a show of patting himself off with a napkin pinched from a nearby table. He doesn’t try too hard though; if Allen believes he’s ruined the shirt, he’ll be that much easier to manipulate. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

 

“Can I buy you a new one?” Allen says, gesturing to Len’s now mostly empty cup.

 

Len takes his time looking the kid over, long enough that he begins to squirm under the gaze. He finally counters with, “How about _I_ buy _you_ lunch?”

 

“Wh- what?” Allen’s eyes go as wide as saucers and his eyebrows reach into his hair.

 

“Sorry, was that too forward? My name’s Len.” Allen shakes the hand he holds out on autopilot. A dumbfounded look remains plastered all over his face, his mouth hanging open just slightly.

 

“No, it’s fine. I just wasn’t…” Len catches the quick flick of Allen’s eyes over to the register. “I mean, there’s someone…”

 

Len holds his hands out in a stop motion in front of him. “Say no more. As friends then?” He gives his best disarming smile. “I’m only new in town and I don’t know anyone. This seems like the universe is trying to tell me something.” A pause. “Everyone could use a friend, right?”

 

It seems like a good appeal to make to someone who – if the Santini’s info is to be believed – is desperately short on friends. Allen thinks about it for a second but soon accepts. “Yeah, okay. Okay.” He sounds more sure the second time. “There’s a diner just around the corner, the Motorcar? Do you know it?”

 

If Len was being his usual sarcastic asshole self, he would’ve answered with, “Know it? I was going there before you were even born.” As it is, he just replies in the affirmative and suggests a time which Allen agrees to. “It’s a date then.”

 

He watches Allen just long enough to see the flush creep into his cheeks but then says a quick goodbye and pretends to hurry off to his work.

 

***

 

Len gets to the Motorcar early. He chooses a booth towards the back with a good vantage point of the exit. The place hasn’t changed much over the years; it looks almost exactly as it had when his grandfather had brought Lisa and himself here for a treat decades ago.

 

Allen is late but Len supposes that’s to be expected. If he couldn’t even make it to his own job on time the majority of the time, a lunch date stood no chance. At twelve past the hour he finally stumbles through the doorway, his head swivelling around quickly, seeking Len out.

 

Before he’s even reached the booth, he’s apologising.

 

“I’m sorry! I would have called but I didn’t have your number. I’m Barry, by the way. And I’m chronically late, if you hadn’t already figured that out.”

 

Len chuckles. “Hi, Barry.” He points to himself. “Len, in case you missed it at the coffee shop. Nice to meet you.” He sees no use in hiding his own name. Snart might ring a bell but Len is inconspicuous. By the time Allen – Barry – figures out the ruse, it’ll already be too late.

 

The slightly awkward silence that follows is interrupted by the arrival of their server. They place their orders and then they’re left alone again.

 

“So,” Barry starts, “you said you’re new in town?”

 

That’s all the get-go they need. At first Len pulls out all the stops, using every trick he’s learnt over the years to inspire confidence and trust. He throws in a little soul-gazing just to seal the deal. But Barry actually turns out to be surprisingly easy to talk to and Len feels himself relaxing into this fake life. He’s Len Wynters, an antiquities appraisal expert who’s just moved back to the Midwest to be closer to his only remaining family member. He’d learnt early on that the best lies are the ones that are almost truths.

 

“Does that mean you’re sticking around for a while then?” Barry asks. Len can tell the question has a lot more meaning packed into it that just face value.

 

“That is the plan.”

 

Len proceeds to ask Barry all the questions about his family that he already knows the answers to. He’s surprisingly open about his parents, mentioning his imprisoned father and dead mother in such a way as to make the information available but not make it awkward. Len finds himself wanting to talk about the similarities in their lives, but mentioning a criminal father might raise some suspicions. There’s a fine line to walk between building camaraderie and instilling enough curiosity that Barry might go and do some research of his own.

 

Len enjoys the conversation so much he loses track of time and is surprised when Barry jolts out of his seat, pulling his sleeve back to check what he’d already known – he’s meant to be back at work. Chronically late indeed.

 

Len just watches in amusement as Barry frantically searches through his pockets. When he finally manages to locate his wallet, Len stands and closes the distance between them, pushing the hand holding the wallet back down towards the pocket it had come from.

 

“My treat,” he says to Barry’s confused expression.

 

Barry holds his gaze for whole seconds, the two of them standing closer than was perhaps appropriate for almost strangers. When they break eye contact, he starts digging through his pockets again, pulling out a pen this time. He starts writing on a napkin and then holds it out to Len.

 

“That’s my number. Um, text me or something? This was fun. We should do it again sometime.”

 

Len takes the flimsy piece of paper from him, keeping his head ducked to hide the smile tugging at his lips. He’s going to pretend it’s for a job well done. “You’d better hurry or you’re going to be really late.”

 

Barry careens into a stool as he tries to hurry backwards, his eyes fixed on Len. He only turns and looks where he’s going after Len shouts out a promise to message him.

 

 

***

 

Len waits until a time when he’d conceivably be finished working if he did indeed have a normal 9 to 5 job in the city centre.

 

He keeps the first message simple.

 

_Hi. This is Len from lunch._

 

The reply comes faster than he would have expected.

 

_Hey! I wasn’t sure if you’d actually text._ _I’m glad you did._

 

Len wonders if people often tell Barry they’ll message and don’t. The idea upsets him for some reason he can’t explain to himself.

 

Len doesn’t know how to proceed from there. He needs to ingratiate himself with Barry if he’s to keep Lisa safe but a part of him also just generally wants Barry to like him. The kid’s got that air of genuine goodness that’s so rare in people. It’s going to hurt to betray him.

 

He doesn’t have to worry over it for long though because the next moment his phone buzzes and Barry is explaining something interesting he learnt at work that day. Len asks questions he hopes are insightful and Barry answers back in easy to understand language.

 

As Len waits for a reply back about the use of beetles in food colourings, his phone starts to ring.

 

For a moment his heart goes up into his throat but it’s a private number calling, not Barry. It could only be one person. He answers the call and holds the phone to his ear.

 

“It’s go time. The evidence will be in the lab first thing tomorrow.”

 

When Barry’s next text arrives, it leaves Len feeling _wrong_.

 

He hates himself a little as he types out _I’ve got a quiet morning tomorrow. Mind if I drop by and see you at the precinct? You can give me the grand tour._

 

Barry’s answer comes quickly and enthusiastically.

 

_Sure. See you then._

 

It’s settled then.

 

Len goes and pours himself a drink.

 

***

 

Entering the precinct is the first challenge. Barry might not have been around for his last job but he’d put good money on almost half the rest of the force knowing his mug shot and rap sheet pretty well. He’s kept the glasses and added a beanie, swapping out the business casual for real casual: loose jeans, plaid shirt and a thick winter jacket to obscure his body shape.

 

The elevator dings as it reaches the department’s lobby and he almost expects the doors to open to reveal the whole police force staring at him with guns raised. For a second he imagines this has all been an elaborate plan by the Santinis to hand him over to the police. It’s not of course. When the elevator doors open, a few people look up out of habit but no one even gives him a second glance.

 

He introduces himself as a friend of Barry Allen’s at reception and is given a sceptical look (for the friend comment, he thinks, not about his secret identity) before being given brief instructions to his lab. Len walks down corridors he’s only ever walked in cuffs before. This is almost too easy.

 

Barry’s lab, when he reaches it, doesn’t look anything like the sleek ones he’s seen on TV shows. In fact, it looks like a high school lab’s storeroom from back when Len was a student. The shelving is ramshackle and the chemicals in old fashioned glass jars. It’s all an accident waiting to happen as far as Len’s concerned.

 

Barry’s bent over his computer, typing one-handedly as his other flicks through documents in a case file. Len watches him for a while until his eyes hone in on the gun on the table, still in its evidence bag. Time to get this show on the road then.

 

“Hey, Barry.”

 

The kid spins around in his swivel chair, snapping the case file shut as papers threaten to spill out from the speed of his turn. “Len. You came.”

 

“Said I would, didn’t I?”

 

Barry runs a hand through his hair, looking away. The gesture worries Len until Barry speaks. “Now’s not the best time, sorry. I thought I’d be able to escape for a little while to show you around but Singh’s busting my ass about getting this evidence processed as soon as possible. The trial’s coming up,” he says by way of apology.

 

Len makes a hum of understanding but moves closer to Barry’s desk.

 

“What are you going to do with that?” he asks, jutting his chin towards the bagged gun. From this close he can read the scribble on the bag’s outside. He spots the name Santini and knows this is exactly what he’s been sent here for.

 

Barry swings the chair back around to his desk, facing away from Len. “Fingerprinting first then see if I can pull a serial number from it. The usual.”

 

“I see.”

 

“Hey,” Barry starts, still looking anywhere but at Len, “I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go to dinner with me? I know yesterday I said I wasn’t – hey, whoa, what are you doing?”

 

Barry is looking panicked at Len’s hand around the gun in its evidence bag. The crinkle of the plastic is new, but the weight and feel of the gun is familiar. He’s used one of these himself countless times.

 

Len’s surprised and impressed when Barry says, “you can’t touch that,” and his voice only quavers slightly. Don’t be a hero, Barry, he silently wishes at the boy. He doesn’t want to hurt him any more than he has to.

 

“I don’t have a choice in the matter.” As Len picks the gun up off the table Barry bolts upright, legs tangling with the chair’s in his rush and falling heavily to the floor. He quickly rolls to be facing up at Len but doesn’t try to get back to his feet, just holds his hands up in surrender.

 

“I’m sorry, kid. I have to do this or my sister’s dead.” Len thinks if any explanation for his duplicity would sway Barry, it would be that one, but he just lies there with a look of betrayal on his face and Len feels bad about doing a job for the first time in a long time. That’s not going to stop him from doing what he needs to done though. It does however lead him to say more than he should. “If you ever forgive me, come find me. I’ll be waiting. We’ll do that dinner.”

 

Then he uses the butt of the gun’s grip to knock Barry out.

 

***

 

The particle accelerator explosion happens and Len can’t help looking up the gangly CSI he’d conned only months previous. The answer he finds after a quick internet search has him deciding he needs a break from Central and he’s packed and leaving within the hour.

 

He does a few jobs in Gotham but that city’s a little too crazy even for him. Bludhaven isn’t much better. He travels cross country. Starling isn’t appealing with its vigilante who seems to like sticking arrows in people for the smallest slights, but Coast City just a few hours south is nice. The tourists strolling along the beach don’t notice him as he passes among them, picking pockets. It’s easy work and minimally satisfying. He’s biding his time, waiting for the perfect job to reveal itself to him.

 

He leaves Coast City and starts making his way inland, the Gem Cities calling him home like they always have. He’s in the middle of nowhere, Colorado, when his phone chimes at him.

 

It’s another hour before he pulls into a ratty motel for the night. He pays in cash at the reception and takes the key attached to the faded fob with a picture of a cactus on it. Highway motels all have a certain uniformity after a while.

 

He takes a shower to wash the road off of him before remembering the message on his phone.

 

When he reads it, he immediately starts getting dressed and repacks everything. He’s back on the road in less than 5 minutes.

 

His phone is thrown onto the passenger’s seat, its screen still lit up and displaying the message _how about that dinner?_


End file.
